tis you, 'tis you must go (and I must bide)
by Miriel Tolkien
Summary: Two Avengers deal with one of the great battle's repercussions. Heavy spoilers for Age of Ultron. Not a fix-it.


**Author's note: don't own anything but a bunch of feels which I thought I'd pass on. See ozhawk's fix-it fic "Rough Day" if you're looking for a happier ending than Whedon gave us.**

 _A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts._

The Maximoff boy saved him. And Barton wasn't going to kid himself that it was about Hawkeye and/or a civilian. Because that was about Clint and a little boy.

And now the punk was dead.

Superspeed, supersnark, supersister—not enough against a storm of Ultron-directed firepower, even though he saw it coming.

Especially since he saw it coming.

Clint shook his head at the lifeboat attendant, waved him away to someone who needed help more. He'd be okay. Relatively speaking.

The white-haired boy on the deck, though . . . .

He brought the body onto the helicarrier himself. Wanda'd be broken; better she heard the news from a friend. But when he stood in front of her, where he'd expected shock and sobbing he found only understanding—understanding and a terribly silent grief. She already knew.

(Somehow he'd thought, in the back of his mind, that she would sense her twin's death. If any set of twins on this earth had a connection, it would've been the Maximoffs.)

She took her brother carefully from Clint, combing the pale and dusty curls with pale and slender fingers. Artist's fingers, he thought distantly. The girl _was_ an artist, after all—just not a conventional one. Her canvas was mind and matter.

"He died—to save you." It was a statement.

Clint nodded. "Me and a kid. Ultron would've taken us both out…" His voice trailed off.

"But he took instead my brother." Wanda still had not met his eyes.

Silence.

Just as Clint was about to open his mouth and say something probably completely inadequate, she spoke instead. "He was twelve minutes older than me," she murmured, brushing those delicate fingers over her twin's battle-grimed face. "I told him I'd be okay. I never thought—never dreamed he would be the one in such danger. I thought I was sending him to be safe."

She looked up at Clint then, dark eyes dry but so, so deep and old. "He was my brother. And I killed him because I thought I could be an Avenger."

"Hey, no, Wanda, it wasn't you—"

She ignored him. Slowly she laid Pietro down on the floor and knelt beside him, holding his cold hand. Only then did she look back up at Clint with her solemn gaze. "Then who was it? Who was it if not the one who sent him where he would die?"

Clint hesitated. "I—"

"It was me!" Her shoulders shook, and even as she tried to hold herself together Clint could see her falling apart, a tear tracing an already well-worn trail down her cheek. "I sent him, I sent him to death, my Pietro, my rock, my brother. My fault!"

"No, no, Wanda, hey, shh, it wasn't your fault. Wanda!" He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shied from his touch with a sob.

"Listen to me, Maximoff. Listen to me!" Finally she looked back up at him, still blinking back tears.

"I am listening, Barton."

"Wanda. Just two things. One, it's not your fault. Pietro went when you told him, didn't he? He didn't have to, just like he didn't hafta save my hide. It was his choice. Both times. Okay?"

He waited for her tentative nod before continuing.

"Two, you are absolutely an Avenger. You went out that door, hey, you burst out that door with your red warpers going everywhere and blew those bots up like nobody's business, which just so happened to also save my life. So you've saved at least Cap and me, you've saved countless civilians, and you've struck fantastic blows for the freedom of your country and your world. I'd say that counts for a lot."

One corner of her mouth twitched up briefly. "Is it a habit for you, these speeches?"

Clint shrugged with a dry smile. "Getting to be, apparently."

"You are a good man, Clint Barton. I—I am grateful to you for—many things. Thank you for bringing Pietro back to me. I am . . ." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "If he had to die, there was no better way than in saving such a man. It is an honor to be such as you—Avenger."

"On the contrary, Wanda Maximoff." Clint shook his head. "Working with you and Pietro was the real honor. One—one I didn't see coming."

 _It is a privilege to be among them._


End file.
